Your eyes glued on him and his fragile form, stretched out across the ratty couch that takes up most of the living room. His long legs rested against the little bench that serves as a table. His thin arms tucked behind his head, his feet tapping to the beat of the music spilling from the old fashioned radio across the room. His eyes shut softly, his face split in a small smirk. All the earlier signs of stress erased from his features as if they never happened: his fiery red hair hanging loose around his forehead.
You fight the urge to walk over and clear then away with your fingers. But you remain there, simply staring, drinking in the sight of him. His voice hums along to the song that has just begun playing, following every note almost perfectly. You get the feeling this isn't the first time he's heard this song. You feel your lips tug at you, struggling to turn into a smile of your own, and you let them, basking in the feeling of the room around you. The sight of him, relaxed and at peace with the world that he carries on his shoulders, makes a warm seed spread in your body. If you still had a heart, it would have melted out your chest. But you don't.
But looking at him now, you feel as if maybe he's your heart. And your soul. All the things you lost along with your life. And of course, you would never consider these things unless the moment was right: and right now seemed a better time than any. You let your eyes travel up and down his body, from his twitching toes hidden beneath the christmas socks from last year, to his messy hair and freckled face. You feel thankful the sun was at a perfect angle, allowing you to see them dotted along his nose and cheeks. He may deny it, but you found that the cutest thing about him.
You lose your limited self control, closing the painful distance between you and him with a few long steps, making sure to stay as quiet as possible. You loved it when you surprised him like this.
You sit near him on the couch, leaning in close to press your shoulder on his, your face moving in to touch your nose to his neck. You feel him jump a bit of this contact, but when you lean in fully and wrap a single arm around him, burying your face against his wild hair: you feel his tense body relax and a sigh escape his throat. You find you were looking for that sound of happiness, and you place a kiss against his skull. He smells of shampoo and Sharpies, his body still damp from the shower less than an hour ago.
You busy yourself with nosing at his curls, kissing his jaw and his cheek. Sucking up the warmth he has to offer. But after a moment of this, you let your mouth travel to his ear, giving it a slow kiss before opening your lips to mouth the lyrics coming from the speakers.
"Stay beautiful baby..."
He chuckles softly at this, his hand moving to tangle his fingers around yours. You take this as a go ahead, and let your voice hum along with his, a low rumble in the back of your throat. It feels odd, never before have you done this with him: and yet you find yourself enjoying it. You can hear him copy the tune with you, your voices mixing, and it sounds just as good to you.
Infact, it sounds beautiful.
"I hope you stay American, baby..."
You sway, and he joins in. Moving back and forth to the beat, your mouth teasing at his ear between each pause the song allows. You crack your eyes, and you can see his still closed behind soft eyelids. And you sway, hum, your arms wrapped around him as tight as you know how on that couch... the smooth sound of the music taking over you. Consuming you. Filling your body with a warmth so soft and gentle you almost think its possible to fall asleep for the first time in over ten years. But you wouldn't if you could, you refuse to miss out on what you have in your embrace. Or the way he tastes when you flick his neck with your tongue. Or the feelings that stir in you while you sing along, swaying back and forth, your forehead pressed against his hair and your eyes shut softly.
"American baby..."
You let your free hand sneak over to rub slow circles around his shoulder and side, your thumb coming out to trace across the top of the hand that is cupped in yours. You can hear the song coming to an end, and you place one last kiss against his temple, your arm wrapping around his stomach and drawing him in closer: until he's sitting against your lap, laughing and grinning and gripping your hand tighter.
You find his laughter makes the place your heart should have been throb. And your body shake with joy. And its a sensation you never want to be without. And to be without it, would only mean you had to be without him... and that was the last thing you wanted to think about right now.
But he always seems to drag these feelings out of you: but you don't mind. He really is the best thing that has ever happened to you.
You stand and offer a hand to help him up, and he joins you on his feet, grinning up at you: his pools of blue alive with affection and adoration.
"Oh! gnee! you're smiling, Draco!"
Draco.
Last night it was Ron.
"I had no idea you could sound so amazing. Were you a singer when you were alive, Harry? man, we need to try this with Queen, yanno? you would be wicked at that!"
You highly doubted that, but you don't say anything. You lean down to kiss him, running your finger down his cheek tenderly. Some say there's no such thing as heaven. And you used to agree, for the most part. But with him in your arms, and his face wide with that grin, and his eyes staring up at you with nothing but love reflected in them...
"Would you like a sandwhich, Hanna?"
You think its possible to say you've found your own piece of heaven. Even if your heaven was a run down excuse for a home and a 24 year old who listened to Queen and wore boxers that were covered in a variety of Dinosaur species. But this was your heaven. He was your heaven.
"Hell yeah! I'll see you in the kitchen, Weasley!"
And you wouldn't have it any other way.